


Gray Area

by yeahitshowed



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahitshowed/pseuds/yeahitshowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Cosima's death, Sarah gets a phone call from her sister's monitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray Area

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a post by tumblr user vanamo13: http://vanamo13.tumblr.com/post/83323173521/ok-but-just-imagine-cosima-dies-and-delphine-is

_Cosima Niehaus is calling._

Sarah began formulating explanations the moment her phone buzzed. Someone could have found Cos’s cell discarded somewhere--a stranger, in the best case, trying to find the owner. She didn’t remember whether they had gotten rid of the thing, anyway. Delphine had probably dropped it down a storm drain the first chance she could. 

More likely, a couple of Dyad freaks were having a little fun. Give Sarah a scare while reminding her of her next appointment. She bet it was those asshole interns, the scrawny grad students that spat out her tag number every time she walked in. Hateful kids. At least Bowles’ bunch showed them a bit of clinical respect now and then. 

_Cosima Niehaus is calling._

Sarah passed the phone from hand to hand. If Felix were here, he’d tell her to let it ring for days; block the number, even. His voice nudged at the back of her mind, _stop, Sarah, you know it’s only gonna be bad news, exactly how stupid are you,_ and she wished he were here to tell her off. Sure, she’d ignore him, but she needed that moment of sanity, the illusion that she wasn’t going to take the wrong path. 

Because she was going to take the wrong path. Of course she was. The phone was still ringing, and ringing, and ringing, and she wanted to _know._

_Cosima Niehaus is calling._

Like hell she is, Sarah thought, and answered.

The other end was pure noise: voices, static, laughter, all threaded together by a pounding bassline. A flash of hope--maybe, just maybe--and she repeated into the receiver a more urgent “Hello?” 

Nothing. And then--a clear, loud sob. 

A prickle of fury dulled Sarah’s disappointment. “Delphine,” she said through gritted teeth, barely a question. Another sniff from the other end, and a shuddering breath. 

“Hello, Sarah,” came the wavering response. “It’s...been a long time.” Sarah waited, nonplussed. “I trust your sisters have started treatment?”

“What the hell do you want?” Sarah spat. More sad little sounds from Delphine’s side.

“A favor,” Delphine said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I believe I’m in your area. Are you familiar with the bar--qu’est-ce que le nom--it has blue lights on the ceiling, and sort of a, a cold aesthetic--”

“You’re in a bar.” Sarah’s fingers tightened on the plastic. “What, you need a ride back to monitor headquarters?” 

“Of course, you have more important matters on your mind,” she said quickly. “It’s just that...you know this part of town.”

Delphine must be losing her touch. There were a thousand better ways to lure Sarah away from home; hell, anything would’ve been better than “hey, come get me!” A man’s voice wafted over the speaker, asking after Delphine’s drink order. Her response was so honey-sweet, so sickeningly far from the teary goddamn actress that’d called. 

“Yeah, I don’t do taxi rides,” Sarah said. “Have a nice night out.”

“Wait--just a minute, please, I’m not quite sure where I am, and I know that we are not--I know--but if you would do this one thing for me, if you would only--” she rambled on choppily. Her words reeked of something sharper than alcohol: it was desperation, and it made Sarah’s skin crawl. 

“Okay. _Okay_ , would you shut up for two seconds? Why’s it gotta be me, huh? Why are you so eager to keep me on the line?” 

Delphine finally paused for air. “I want to see you,” she said quietly.

Sarah’s thumb traced the _end call_ button. She had played this game before, a couple months back; a man had approached her on one of her first trips to the Dyad, grabbing her shoulder like she’d know his touch. He had been someone else’s monitor. One of the dead ones. With a disgusting mix of entitlement and grief, the man had called her Jennifer, examined her face, took joy in her persistent life. In his eyes, Sarah witnessed a closure that he didn’t deserve. And Delphine wanted the same.

It would be so easy to tell Delphine to fuck off. A mouthful of acid, the words that had stuck in her throat at the funeral, and she’d be done with the bitch for good. But delivering them in person...watching the false hope drain out of those big eyes...

“Stay where you are.”

Sarah circled the club twice before parking. On entering, she took note of the crowd: large, drunk, loud. Good. Amidst that many bodies, only a trained eye would notice the bulge in her jacket. Even so, she kept a hand lightly on the weapon, her shoulders high with tension. No Delphine on the dance floor; not at the bar, either. With each passing moment, Sarah’s stomach sank. A trap after all, then. After all she’d been through, after all _Cosima_ had been through, she wondered how she could be so stupid. 

But then Sarah spotted her, sitting alone at a corner table. At least, she thought it was Delphine. The hair was a dead giveaway, still huge, but the rest of her was oddly changed. Hunched where she had been straight. Dull where she had been bright. Sarah’s hand drifted off the gun. 

All that new fragility might melt away the moment Delphine caught her eye, so Sarah stayed in the shadows of other people, observing. The old monitor drained a glass of something red, her eyes open and unfocused. When a waiter passed her table, she reawakened like a car stuttering to life; her charm returned, her expression inviting as she handed him the empty glass. That sunny demeanor faded the moment the waiter turned away. 

Sarah approached out of sheer fascination. This tired creature wasn’t anything like the maddeningly collected woman that had stepped out of their lives so many months before. Maybe the Dyad had cut her loose, since shagging Cosima seemed like the only job she could do halfway decent. Jobless and drinking. Childish as it was, that was the kind of Delphine that Sarah had hoped to find. 

A thrill of fear seized Sarah as Delphine looked up--god, her expression became like a caged dog, starved and feral. Sleepwalking, she rose from the table, closing the gap between her and Sarah in large, uneven steps. Sarah’s hand found the gun. She couldn’t use it here, not with a crowd behind her, but the false comfort gave her the strength not to run off. There were tears painting Delphine’s face; she would be by Sarah’s side in seconds, and Sarah set her jaw, dug in her heels. 

She barely felt Delphine’s lips smashing against hers. The hands forcing themselves into her hair. What she felt was her own hands shoving Delphine off, her legs staggering backwards, knocking against a drunk shithead cheering at them. Delphine was close again, her hand unwelcome on Sarah’s arm. She said something urgent and tearstained and Sarah hated the words, hated the heat of her hand, hated the liquor she’d left on Sarah’s mouth. So Sarah pushed.

Delphine hit the floor with a cry. People reacted; people voiced their ignorant disapproval. Sarah put them out of her mind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouted over the music. 

“Hey, honey, why don’t you back off?” the drunk guy said, leering at her. She very nearly wiped the dumb smile off his face, but Delphine was broken on the ground, and people were staring. Grabbing Delphine’s outstretched hand, she escorted her out of the bar. 

On the safety of the empty street, Sarah made sure Delphine could see her weapon. The sight had little effect; Delphine’s eyes darted down once before returning to Sarah. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sarah asked in a snarl. “Just because I’ve got her face, I’m gonna be your little pet clone?”

Tears flowed down Delphine’s cheeks. “No.”

“You’re goddamn right, no.” It would’ve been so easy to tell Delphine off over the phone. So unbelievably easy. “I fucking knew you’d want me to lick your wounds, too. We’re not just a face, okay?” 

“No, of course you’re not,” Delphine said softly. She wasn’t listening; not really. She was still gazing at Sarah as if she were the second coming of Cosima. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You don’t get to look at me like that.” 

Delphine tore her eyes away, casting her attention downward. Her features were strikingly gaunt, up close. As gray as her shirt. All the guilt Sarah had hoped to induce seemed to already be there, and Sarah hated her for it.

“She’s dead,” Sarah said, much too loud. “Gone, no matter how many of us are still around. And you killed her, you bitch. You killed yours, and I’m not--I’m not her.” 

It had sounded more impressive in her head. Sarah had pictured the moment before, how she would avenge her sister with words instead of weapons, just like Cosima would have wanted. But Cosima had always been better at the whole shoot-you-down-with-a-sentence thing. 

Delphine closed her eyes against the onslaught. “I know this,” she said tightly. “You don’t have to tell me that it’s my fault.”

“Don’t I, though? The last time I saw you, you were pretty eager to throw around the blame.”

“Three of you in one place, next to the coffin...I couldn’t...you looked...” Delphine pressed a hand to her mouth; Sarah stepped back in case the red liquor was coming back up. “You all hated me, but it was her eyes hating me, it was all her.”

Sarah tried not to remember the funeral (which they had fought to have, fought to keep Cosima off a dissection table). Helena skulking in mismatched attire, too used to clone death. Alison silent and shaking until, with a trembling lower lip, she descended into sobs in the middle of her handwritten speech. And yes, the three of them hadn’t faked any love toward their sister’s keeper. 

“What did I just fucking say, Cormier? We’re not--”

“You are genetic identicals,” Delphine snapped. “Her face is your face. I apologize for leaving you so abruptly, but what good was I there? Did you really want my help?” She made a noise just shy of laughter. 

“You knew way more than the twerp heading the cure now,” Sarah said. “When you left, it all went away--we’ve had to sit through tests she’d done a year ago because you had to go and fuck up your lab.”

Delphine shook her head. “There was nothing of importance. Scott cracked it without any of our research. You were better off in his hands.”

“So that’s what you tell yourself.” Sarah felt like screaming. “Jesus, you must have been one hell of an actress to convince her you were on any side but your own.” 

Delphine lunged, knocking Sarah’s gun out of her loose grip. Sarah was all claws and knees but Delphine was a parasite, holding on for dear life. “I was only ever on her side,” she urged over Sarah’s swearing. “Please, Sarah, you can hate me for so much, but do not hate me for that.”

“She didn’t even know she was gonna die,” Sarah hissed, prying at Delphine’s fingers. “You kept her thinking she could hope even when she couldn’t breathe.”

Delphine’s clutch dug into Sarah’s skin. “You don’t understand. Hope was all we had.”

“She had us!” Sarah shouted. “Maybe hope was all you had, but she had a bloody support system, and you kept that from her.”

Sarah caught Delphine out of instinct as she slumped against her. The sobs filled up the empty street, and Sarah pressed Delphine’s head against her shoulder to muffle them; they rang through Sarah’s body like they were her own. She wasn’t quite sure when her arms made their way across Delphine’s back, but there they were, acting as Delphine’s spine. Felix’s voice came to her again, scoffing and right.

Wet patches bloomed on Sarah’s shirt. It should’ve disgusted her--Delphine’s whole warm leaning body, leeching from Sarah some kind of comfort, should’ve turned Sarah’s stomach. But Delphine was crying for Cosima. Maybe selfishly, mourning what Cosima had been to her, but for Cosima nonetheless. Her grief, wrapped around Sarah in arms and hair and trembling mouth, was familiar. Sarah had only ever cried for Cosima alone. 

“I was a fool,” Delphine poured into Sarah’s shoulder. “So many mistakes, but Sarah, I loved her, I loved her. Please--you have to believe me. Someone has to.” 

“I believe you.” Did she? Sarah didn’t know, but the words were out, and Delphine lifted her head in a daze. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. Sarah hadn’t noticed her own tears until Delphine brushed one off her face. Her fingers trailed down, over Sarah’s throat, before dropping. It felt...not terrible. Cosima would’ve liked it. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Sarah eased Delphine back. “Come on, get up.”

Delphine swayed on her feet. She watched Sarah pick up the gun, relaxing when the thing disappeared inside Sarah’s jacket. “You loved her, too, I know,” Delphine said. 

Sarah exhaled. “Don’t push it, okay?”

“I don’t mean to pry.” Delphine smiled, different from the fangs she gave the waiter. Softer. Sadder. “It just showed. That’s all. She knew you did.” 

Delphine specialized in manipulation; that’s what Cosima had said, sitting in her dorm room, blunt in hand. She’d known, and she’d fallen. Sarah knew, and she was teetering, because Delphine had hit a pressure point. 

“I don’t know about that,” Sarah said, wincing at her own neediness. 

“She really did. You were her favorite, I think. Of her sisters.” 

“She must’ve been a real fan of tough love.” Sarah tried to laugh, but the sound splintered, breaking into the ugliest hitching cries. How many times had she hung up on Cosima without a second thought? Quick snark, phone shut, never letting Cosima have the last word. Sarah didn’t think she’d ever said a goodbye, not even when Cosima was hacking up a lung every time they spoke. 

When Delphine put her arms around Sarah’s shoulders, Sarah let her, giving Delphine a matching wet spot on her blouse. She was nice and warm, easy to slump against. Maybe it wasn’t awful that she’d been by Cosima’s side near the end. You could trick yourself into some heavy optimism, tight in Delphine’s arms. 

Sarah didn’t even flinch as Delphine kissed her again. She was tired of revenge and noble grudges, the “nurture” traits that appeared absent from some of the people who shared her nature.   She was tired of herself. Awkwardly moving her mouth against Delphine’s, Sarah imagined how Cosima would feel, what thoughts would scatter through that big brain. 

That’s what Delphine had wanted, no doubt. But Sarah was inescapably Sarah. There was no inner Cosima lurking about.

“I can’t be her,” Sarah sputtered against Delphine’s lips. “I wish I could, but...”

Delphine’s fingers cradled Sarah’s face. “You fooled me once, didn’t you?” 

“For all of two minutes.”

“They were a real two minutes.” Off Sarah’s knitted brow, Delphine chewed her lip, searching for a better explanation. “Did you not feel like her when in the act?”

“Alison’s the actress,” Sarah quipped immediately, though come to think of it--there had been moments that night, interacting with Cosima’s coworkers, when Sarah had very nearly believed her own lie. “...I did, kind of.”

“Then she could live again for both of us,” Delphine pushed. “It’s idiotic, I know; complete escapism. But with the lives we lead, you and I, it’s not the worst thing in the world to play pretend.”  

To stop herself from questioning Delphine’s motives for the thousandth exhausting time, Sarah leaned up and kissed her with the ghost of Cosima’s passion.

They were silent during the drive to Delphine’s apartment. While Delphine fumbled with the key, Sarah stared at the back of her head, trying her best to fall in love. Cosima hadn’t mentioned much about Delphine, but she had talked about the hair. The voice, too, and the way Delphine said her name. 

Once inside, Delphine led Sarah to a dresser giving off a strong mothball stink. “If you want to look the part,” she said, pulling open a drawer. 

Sarah perused the contents. There was a dress she had seen on Cosima once or twice, a multicolored abomination that ended way too high. It was everything Sarah hated in a piece of clothing. Bingo. 

She slunk into the bathroom to change, avoiding the mirror at all costs. Pulling the hem down as far as it would go, Sarah called, “Hey, do you know how to do the dreads?”

Delphine appeared in the doorway. “Badly, yes. You wouldn’t mind?”

“Might as well.” Sarah heard her own accent as if it were fresh on her ears. “Shit, I should be doing her voice. Uh, how’s this?”

“A little nasal, perhaps,” Delphine said, her fingers taming and twirling Sarah’s hair. Sarah closed her eyes.

“Okay, so, like, kind of deeper. The whole California vibe, right?” There it was. They both heard it, hitting its stride mid-sentence. Delphine’s hands paused.

“Yes, that sounds correct,” Delphine said. 

Her eyes still firmly shut, Sarah cycled through Cosima’s lingo; lots of dudes, wows, totallys. Delphine gave gentle advice, which Sarah gratefully incorporated. Finding Delphine charmingly calming became easy. Sarah pinned that to fully reaching a Cosima-like state of mind.

“Alright, I think I’m finished.” Delphine continued to play with Sarah’s hair. “If you would like to put on any makeup--”

“Eyeliner, yeah,” Sarah said. “I gotta have eyeliner.” 

“That might require you opening your eyes.”

Right. Sarah blinked, meeting Delphine’s searching stare. Out of the cupboard, Delphine pulled a stick of eyeliner, its label promising thick, black rims. 

“Go to it,” Delphine instructed. “I’ll meet you out there.”

After a moment examining her hands, Sarah forced herself to become acquainted with her new reflection. Her breath caught--Cosima lived, just behind the glass. As Sarah touched her hair, wiggled her hands, tilted her head, she felt like a puppetmaster: her sister copied her every move. She watched Cosima put on her eyeliner more than apply it herself. 

Sarah’s clones were entirely different people; from the moment Beth Childs had entered and exited her life, she had drilled that thought into her head. Their exteriors didn’t matter much. When faced with a force that reduces you to tag numbers, their faces couldn’t matter--not if they wanted to preserve their identities. Now, staring her dead sister in the eye, Sarah loved their identical skin even more than her own unique interior. She pressed a hand against the mirror. 

“Are you almost done?” Delphine called. 

Sarah tugged at her hair. “Yeah--yes, uh, sorry.”

She remembered Cosima’s walk. Delphine did, too, from the way she looked at her. “I didn’t know if you...” Delphine trailed off; from behind her back, she brandished Cosima’s glasses.

“If I wear ‘em down my nose,” Sarah conceded. “D’you want to do the honors?”

Sarah regretted asking immediately. It had seemed like a fun, flirty thing to do--very Cosima--but when Delphine nodded, approaching her with the glasses raised, the hungry look she’d worn in the bar returned. She balanced the frames on the end of Sarah’s nose as if she were crowning her a queen.

“Cosima,” Delphine said in a strangled voice. “Oh, god, Cosima.”

“You alright there?” Sarah reverted to her real voice; Delphine held up a hand, shaking her head.

“You’re her,” she said, wiping at her suddenly-full eyes. “She hadn’t looked like that in months.”

Sarah softened herself, slipping back into Cosima’s voice. Heart in her hands, brain in her heart. “Hey,” she soothed, easing Delphine onto her couch, gripping her shoulders. “I’m here. Please don’t cry, okay?” Delphine had barely stopped staring at her all evening, but now, she only glanced, like Sarah was the sun. “If you have anything you want to say, or whatever...”

“Yes.” Delphine took one of Sarah’s hands in her own. “There is too much, and none of it is good enough. I will be brief. You were the light of my life, and I was the scourge of yours. I believe you died thinking I didn’t know this, but I did--I knew how selfish I was for staying. It will always haunt me, and I am so, so sorry.”

Delphine didn’t cry then; her voice was a bundle of choked-back tears, but nothing spilled out. With the weight of her practiced apology gone, she breathed easier. 

“Feel better?” Sarah asked. Delphine managed a nod. “Good. So I can call what bullshit that was.”

Delphine looked up sharply with the eyes of one used to defending herself. “I can promise, I meant every word.” 

“I’m sure you did, but that doesn’t make it true. Delphine--” Sarah took Delphine’s face in her hands, reveling in Cosima’s tenderness. “You were trying to protect me from a huge corporation monster. And, yeah, sometimes you fucked up, but that doesn’t mean you were a horrible part of my life. I loved having you in my life. Even when other people told me I should get the hell away from you--smart people, too--I was totally unapologetic about how much I wanted you around.” Time for the kicker, what Delphine really needed to hear. “I loved you like crazy. That kind of trumps any shit you pulled.” 

Sarah watched the relief she had planted in Delphine bloom. Through both her own and Cosima’s eyes, the two-faced Frenchie didn’t really deserve it, but Sarah-as-Cosima couldn’t help enjoying Delphine’s happiness. She even liked it when Delphine touched that happiness against her lips. Sort of. 

She had to hand it to her, Delphine was a good kisser. Better than Paul ever was, as monitors went. The hands tracing down her throat sent shivers along Sarah’s spine, a feeling Sarah chased, arching up into Delphine’s touch. Cosima’s boldness guided Sarah’s hands onto Delphine’s waist; Cosima’s love led her lips to drift along Delphine’s cheek. She wasn’t sure what directed her to push Delphine onto her back.

Cosima was all physical--her emotions came out of her hands, and Sarah’s hands were expressing themselves under Delphine’s shirt, sliding up her stomach. Delphine made pretty little noises; Sarah claimed them as Cosima’s rewards. Every soft hitch of breath and tensing muscle was Cosima’s to have--Sarah offered up the experience like a sacrifice. As she and Delphine exchanged air, Sarah felt, for the first time, that she was mourning her sister with someone who understood. It was desperate, sure, but warm and open and true. 

A familiar buzzing cut their connection to shreds. Sarah’s phone chirped insistently from the pile of clothes she’d left near the bathroom, jarring Sarah back to herself. Leaving Delphine wiping her mouth, Sarah bounded up, searching through her stuff.

_Felix Dawkins is calling._

“What’s wrong?” That was Sarah’s greeting every time Felix called her. Felix didn’t call her much, nowadays, and it usually wasn’t good news.

“Alison,” came Felix’s weary voice. “Hiding bottles again, surprise surprise. Think you can help me clear the place out?”

“Sure. Tell Alison to sit tight--where are the kids?”

“Under control,” Felix said. “For now, at least. I could really use another set of hands over here.”

Sarah rifled through her clothes, pulling on her pants underneath Cosima’s ridiculously tight dress. “Right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hey, you haven’t spoken to Delphine lately, have you?”

“What?” Sarah’s fingers hovered over the button of her pants. “No, why?”

“She called Alison a couple days ago wanting to get coffee or some shit,” Felix said; Sarah could hear the eye-roll. “If she tries to get you out and about, tell her to fuck off for me, will you?”

“Yeah, I’ll try. See you in a bit, Fee.”

“Is Miss Hendrix alright?” Delphine asked. A splash of color livened her otherwise pallid skin, all of it because of Sarah’s hands and mouth. Feeling quite herself again, Sarah could only feel uncomfortable at the thought.

“She’ll be fine, but I’d better go,” Sarah called, already pulling off the dress inside Delphine’s bathroom. When she reentered the living room, her hair was down and tangled, her clothes delightfully loose. “Here,” she said, handing Delphine the glasses. “Keep ‘em safe for me.”

“Of course. Do you think we could--do you want to come over again sometime?” Delphine inquired. Her eyes bored into Sarah’s, plumbing for a trace of what she had been five minutes before. 

Sarah considered. They could continue, like mad scientists, reanimating the dead for handfuls of sweaty minutes. That was probably Delphine’s plan, whether or not it was Sarah putting on Cosima’s clothes. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, smearing some of the liner off of her eyes. “But if you ever need anything--if you’re in danger, I mean, not a car ride--you have my number.”

“Yes.” Delphine’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Thank you, Sarah. Go see to your sister.”

Sarah made the mistake of looking back as the door closed behind her. The last thing she saw was Delphine holding Cosima’s clone phone, scrolling through the contacts.


End file.
